Observations
by HR always live on
Summary: Harry wakes up in the south of France and admires his wife at the beginning of their honeymoon. Post series 10, one shot. Please read and review :)


**While working on other fics, this one shot came to me. Gets a bit serious at the end, but hope you enjoy.**

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Harry awoke, hearing the gulls calling over the bay, and the waves lapping on the shore. The clean white sheets felt smooth and comfortable against his naked body, his head was resting on a feather pillow and he couldn't remember feeling happier or more content in his entire life. Turning to his right he saw the reason why. His wife was still in her slumber, both her face and body turned towards him. The bed sheet was clinging to her hips precariously, but otherwise she was naked. It gave him a rare opportunity to study Ruth's naked body. She didn't like how intensely he looked at her, it always made her blush. But at times like this he could take his fill and she couldn't stop him.

The sunlight poured in through the hotel window, through blinds they'd never bothered to close last night and cast her in a golden hue. The light sparked off of her new wedding ring too, resting on the pillow, her fingers curled slightly. God, this woman was beautiful, intelligent and somehow, miraculously, his. Harry's fingers twitched, wanting to touch her but he refrained. If he did, she'd wake, which while it would lead to interesting and entertaining pursuits, he wanted to look at her first.

Her hair was spread in a tangled mess all over the pillows, and Harry remembered with satisfaction threading his fingers through it last night. His eyes moved over her face slowly, taking in the slope of her cheek, her soft lips almost pouting in sleep, the tiny wrinkles that had started to form around her eyes. He adored her wrinkles but when he mentioned it she hadn't believed him. Her wrinkles meant she was lucky enough to be getting older. Lucky enough to still be alive, and after their jobs, that meant the world to him. So he would never look at the lines on her face with distaste. He treasured them. He remembered the day that it seemed like she might leave him and it would haunt him until he died.

_"Leave the service. With me. While we still know who we are." He had smiled at her, a truly happy smile which she returned. After all the secrets and lies, operations and spying, they had come out on the other side. Together. And then Sasha had appeared, a piece of jagged glass in his hand. He had (probably rightly) blamed Harry for ruining his life. Harry told Ruth to go back to the bunker, but she'd ignored him. She wouldn't allow Harry to face danger on his own. Then like an idiot she had stepped between Sasha, murder on his mind and Harry, the intended victim. Like a fool he'd just stood still and watched as she collapsed, catching her just before she hit the ground. Harry hadn't even looked around when the disabling gunshot hit Sasha. Sasha Gavrik wasn't important._

_"Ruth!" he'd said desperately. The blood was welling from her, vividly red and he began to cross the line into panic. All his experience and training told him what to do in situations like this, but Ruth wasn't any other agent. She was Ruth, the woman he loved more than his own life. So his training went out of the window._

_"Harry, stop," she'd breathed heavily. "I'll be fine."_

_"Let me see," he demanded. Ruth sat up with difficulty and then held out her arm. The blade hadn't sunk into her body, she'd been clever. She'd wrapped her arms around herself protectively and been lucky. The blade had gone through her left forearm. Right through it, causing two wounds and it was bleeding profusely._

_"I'll live," she said, breathing through the pain._

_"Yes you will," he'd agreed as he looked at the wound. Damn painful, he was sure, but not life threatening. "This is going to hurt."_

_"Do it," she said, closing her eyes. Harry quickly took off his jacket, and without thinking about it too much, wrapped it around Ruth's wound tightly. Her high pitched cry of pain cut through him like a knife, try as he did to ignore it. He kept his hands wrapped around her arm, staunching the blood. "I need to lie down, I'm feeling light headed." He helped her lie down, not jostling her wound, hearing Dimitri call for an ambulance._

_"You're going to be all right," he told her._

_"Then why do you look so frightened?" she asked, a faint smile on her lips._

With a shiver he looked at the pink scar on her arm. She'd not really been in much danger, but that was as close as he ever wanted to come to losing her. He was older, he wanted to go first. It was only fair. His eyes followed her skin, down her neck to a red mark. He grinned at the memory. He'd sucked her skin so hard that he'd bruised her. He loved feeling her pulse thundering under his fingers or his lips.

He moved his eyes lower, going over the graceful lines of her collarbone, then to her full breasts. His second favourite part of her, first being her eyes. He adored how they felt in his hands, soft, full, beautiful. Perfect. She loved it when he stroked the underside gently. It made her moan every time, music to his ears. Her breasts were topped with dusky pink nipples. His thumb was halfway towards her, to touch her, before he even realised. He dropped his hand with difficulty and sighed as his eyes roamed downwards.

A smattering of freckles dotted her ribcage and he swallowed, trying to resist temptation. The slight curve of her stomach drew his eye next. Beautiful soft skin. He loved resting his head there as her fingers absently ran through his hair. It would be so comfortable. The bed sheet covered her up, so he looked down, at the long line of her leg, poking out from the covers. Pale skin, only marred by a slight burn on her lower thigh. She'd accidentally spilled scalding hot tea on one occasion. God, he loved this woman, he though, a yearning ache starting deep inside him. He'd made love to her maybe two hundred times by now, but just looking at her could make the desire flare up again. He was pushing sixty and he had never wanted a woman this badly. And he was lucky enough that she was his wife.

Feeling like he'd had his fill with only watching, he moved towards her, a hand on her waist as he kissed her breast lightly. She didn't wake. He moved closer and kissed her lips gently. He sucked her full bottom lip and then ran his tongue over it slowly.

"Oh wake me like that every morning," she moaned. With a grin, he moved down her body and sucked her nipple. She arched up towards him and "mmed" very satisfied. "Quickly before my husband gets home," she teased.

"Don't wind me up," he said in a low growl as she laughed.

"You don't like to share?" she asked with a little pout.

"Not my wife, no," he said. "I find you in bed with another man I'll kill him. And I'll want to kill you too."

"Mm," she said, sinking into the very pleasant feeling of being loved. "I think the chances of that happening are very slim. You're the most… enthusiastic lover I've ever had." He kissed his way up her chest until eventually he reached her mouth again. Deeply, he kissed her good morning, her hands wrapping around his neck. "Oh I love that," she said. "The way you kiss me."

"How?" he asked, curious.

"Soft and sweet sometimes," she said. "But sometimes its urgent and desperate. Like if you don't touch me or consume me you'll just die."

"Sometimes I feel that way," he admitted. "I want you to promise me something."

"Go on," she said, as he didn't seem to want to finish the sentence.

"I want to go first," he said. His hand strayed to the scar on her arm and his thumb ran over the old wound. "I can't bear to lose you, so please… Let me die first."

"Okay," she said quietly, even knowing that such a thing wasn't within her power. "I'll be a merry widow then."

"Not too merry," he said and she smiled, even though the conversation was serious.

"No, I wouldn't," she said. "If, or when I lose you, I will grieve for the rest of my life. That, I mean with all my heart."

"I… you could move on you know," he said quietly, stroking her bare shoulder. "I'd… want you to be happy."

"You'd be glaring at me from heaven if any man dared to touch me," she said, a smile on her face. "Harry, I don't need a man to be happy. If you died on me, I'd be… content on my own. But I want a good few years with you first. So don't go dying on me, okay?"

"I won't," he said. "Anyway, I'm in the best shape of my life. I've not had this much exercise in… maybe twenty years." He gripped her hips and pulled her close, making it clear what form this "exercise" took.

"Oh Harry, do you really expect me to believe that you were celibate for twenty years?" she teased.

"I never said that," he said. "But I can guarantee I've never had as much or as enjoyable sex as I've had with you."

"Mm," she said. "Well, I'll believe that, simply because its true for me too." She smiled and pushed him flat on his back, before straddling him. "Never leave me."

He reached up for her and stroked her hair softly. "You're the love of my life. After all these years, you'll have to chuck me out if you want to get rid of me."

"Good," she said. "I like being stuck with you." He chuckled as she leaned down to kiss him. He pulled her down towards him and vowed that he would never let her go.

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**Please leave a review and let me know what you think. :)**


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